


Into each life some rain must fall

by amberfox17



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Rain, Thor is a walking barometer of emotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Thor's emotional state made it rain and one time it didn't .<br/>A look at Thor and Loki's relationship pre- and post-movies; spoilers for The Dark World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into each life some rain must fall

**Author's Note:**

> This is all thanks to [hausofodin](http://hausofodin.tumblr.com/post/67502653779/amberfox17-ok-so-i-dont-know-if-other-people), [lokizillas](http://lokizillas.tumblr.com/post/67494264862/amberfox17-ok-so-i-dont-know-if-other-people), [umakoo](http://umakoo.tumblr.com), [hannahrhen](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com) and [fabulousasgard](http://fabulousasgard.tumblr.com), who all replied to my vague questioning post about Thor and rain in TDW with wonderful commentary and insights. This is for you <3

**I: Love**

Thor is woken by a slender finger prodding him none-too-gently; from the tingling points of soreness flaring along his chest and arms, the prodding has been going on for some time.

“Mmph?” he manages, struggling to open his eyes. It is a rare thing indeed for the God of Thunder to be brought to such exhausted satiety with just one bedmate, and he resents being deprived of such a deep and blissful sleep.

“Is that you?” Loki asks, sounding irritated.

“What?” Thor says, reluctantly coming around.

“The rain,” Loki says, and as Thor sits up and stretches yes, he can hear it: a torrential downpour is drumming against the stone and metal of the city, thrumming against the windows and cascading along rooftops – another rarity for the sun-soaked Realm Eternal.

“Perhaps it is,” Thor says, unable to repress his smile. He turns his attention to Loki, lean and languid and lovely beside him, and his heart swells with love and tenderness. This is not a situation he ever thought to find himself in and yet now he is here, he would not be anywhere else.

That they are here at all is all Loki’s doing; while the past few weeks of Loki’s escalating teasing and tormenting have been agonising for Thor, he is now infinitely grateful to his brother, firstly for exposing this hidden side of his love for Loki, and secondly for losing patience with Thor’s confusion and simply sneaking into his bed this night, where he had woken Thor with one hand over his mouth and the other on his cock, and it had only improved from there.

Thor feels as if he is overflowing with happiness, as if he would shout his joy to the very skies; perhaps he has, in his dreamless sleep, and the heavens have answered his heart’s call.

“Well, make it stop,” Loki hisses. “Before someone comes to see if you are unwell, or unhappy. You alone in Asgard have this power; it does not take a great intellect to see this unseasonal rain as a sign that something is amiss with you.”

“Nothing is amiss,” Thor says, dismissing Loki’s fears without a second thought. “In truth, I have never been so happy. But if the rain displeases you, I will send it away.”

He gropes clumsily for his power, not entirely sure of how he even called the rain, but after a few false starts, he feels a pressure lift and the steady drumming fades to a light patter and then stops altogether, save the faint plinking of the run-off.

“Satisfied, brother?” he says, yawning and pulling Loki back into a close embrace as he settles back down to sleep.

Whatever Loki’s answer is, it is too low and muffled for Thor to make out, and in truth he does not care for it. Not when he has Loki soft and warm in his arms, their bodies still faintly sticky and loose from their lovemaking, and he wants for nothing more to fall back into sleep, happy and content and together.

**II: Passion**

“Really, Thor, this is intolerable,” Loki snaps and Thor frowns in irritation.

“Most would be pleased with such signs of my affection,” he says, and knows it is a mistake the moment the words leave his mouth and Loki rounds on him, mouth twisted in a sneer.

“Oh, yes,” Loki says, sarcasm dripping from his voice; “I imagine all your tavern wenches and lords’ daughters simper and sigh every time the mighty prince drowns them with his sentiment.”

He punctuates the last word with a foot stomp, sending up a wave from the puddles surrounding them, and Thor sighs as the water washes over his boots and soaks through his trousers.

“I do not do it on purpose,” he points out; in fact, he thought he had done rather well this time. The downpour had been sudden, sharp and breath-taking in intensity, soaking them both to the bone in seconds, but as soon as he had realised what was happening he had let go of Loki and reached for his control, pushing away the flood of protectiveness that had overcome him, focusing on calming his breathing and letting the strength of his adoration fade by concentrating on everything but the feel of Loki in his arms.

The weather had cleared in moments, returning to the usual pleasant sunshine, but Loki, now bearing an unfortunate resemblance to a half-drowned cat and spitting just as furiously, is in no mood to be placated. Thor can appreciate the inconvenience, especially as their picnic, blankets and camp-fire are now sopping wet and the pleasant grassy meadow now a boggy floodplain, but, really, is it so hard to make the best of a bad situation?

“I have already said I am sorry,” Thor says in exasperation as Loki continues to complain; their arguments are far too frequent these days, and all he wanted from this venture to the wilderness was the chance for some quality time alone with his brother. ““Why must you always be like this?”

“Like what?” Loki snaps. “Like myself? How would you prefer me Thor? Brainless and slobbering, like your idiot friends, or fawning at your feet like your other lovers?”

“Not this again,” Thor groans. “It was _your_ idea for us to continue to take other people to bed, to avoid suspicion. You know that they mean nothing to me. _I_ do not berate _you_ for sharing your affections with others.”

“You know nothing of my _affections_ ,” Loki spits, and Thor is so very tired of this. Whatever he says, no matter how carefully he thinks about it, will inevitably be turned into a weapon against him the minute he says it; it is not worth even trying to reason with Loki when he is like this.

“Loki,” Thor says, stepping forward and grasping Loki firmly by the back of his neck, his other hand slipping around his waist to pull him close. “Enough.” He kisses his squirming brother firmly, ignoring his angry spluttering, and after a few moments struggle, Loki subsides and returns his embrace.

“You know that I love you best of all,” Thor murmurs as they break apart, nuzzling Loki’s face affectionately.

“As do I,” Loki says, still ruffled, but calmer. “But you’re doing it again.”

Thor laughs and tips his head back to feel the light patter of raindrops on his face, and for all his scowling, it is Loki who sticks his tongue out to taste the fresh, cool rainwater, and Loki who chooses to chase the rivulets across Thor’s exposed skin, so Thor does not think he minds too much, after all.

**III: Turmoil**

A year on, and it is still quiet in the halls of the palace on the day commemorating Loki’s funeral, if the remembrance feast can quite be termed that. Thor’s mother is still adamant that he is lost, not dead, and continues to scry for him with all the powers at her command; his father, equally resigned to Loki’s loss, remains unwilling to discuss the sorry mess of the past, choosing to speak neither of the years they had as a family, nor the few chaotic days where it all fell apart.

Thor has lived a millennia entire and so a single year is little more than a blink of an eye; yet in such a small space of time his entire world has been turned upside down and it is only now that he is grasping the scale of his loss. His brother is gone, tumbling into the stars between the void, not even leaving them a body to burn, but more than that, his surety and certainty in the wisdom of his parents, the love of his brother, and his own fitness for the throne has cracked and shattered in the wake of his banishment and Loki’s sudden fit of madness.

It can only have been madness, Thor has come to believe, comparing a millennium of Loki’s love with the vicious, frantic hatred of the man who lied to him, sent the Destroyer to murder him, and then tried to do the same again as Jotunheim was decimated by the Bifrost let loose. His and Loki’s relationship was often strained, and was never as easy and carefree as the love he shares with his friends, but he never had cause to doubt it, save for those few, ugly moments on Midgard and the Bifrost.

He misses Loki more than he ever could have imagined. Of course, he misses Jane too, and the other mortals he met so briefly, and the repairs to the Bifrost proceed too slowly for his taste…but they are new occupants of his heart, and besides, he has Heimdall to provide reassuring updates on their continued well-being, which the stalwart Gatekeeper provides as often as Thor asks him to.

There can be no such reassurance of Loki’s fate.

Thor does not know whether to believe with Frigga that Loki still lives, out there, somewhere, in who knows what state and in what company, or whether Odin is right and they must accept both that Loki is dead and that he was not the man they believed him to be. He does not know which is worse: that Loki might be alive and well and careless of their suffering as they mourn him; that Loki might, even now, be wandering and alone, thinking himself abandoned and unwanted; or that Loki is dead and Thor will never have the chance to ask him why he acted the way he did, nor find a way to make amends and have him safe and happy and loving in Thor’s arms once again.

These thoughts are heavy on his mind as he makes his way to Odin’s private audience chamber, for yet another dreary discussion of duties, but he is brought up short by the sight of Frigga and Odin arguing fiercely.

“What is it?” he asks anxiously as they turn at his arrival; it must be no small thing to have his parents so visibly at odds.

 “Loki lives,” his mother says, triumph and exhaustion warring in her voice, the finality of her tone leaving no room for doubt. “I have seen him.”

Relief crashes down on Thor, a great weight of uncertainty finally lifting, but as Frigga’s words sinks in, the purity of the emotion is swamped by a multitude of other feelings. Fear, hope, anger, joy – it is all too much, and as Thor struggles to react, he can feel the tumult within him spilling beyond his body, as the wind begins to howl and a sudden squall of rain sweeps over the palace.

“Send me to him,” Thor blurts out, as the rain lashes down in fierce gusts, now a flood, now a fine mist, ebbing and flowing with Thor’s confusion. “Please, father. I must speak to him.”

No matter where Loki is, or what it will take to send him there, he must go, and his mother squeezes his hand tightly as together they stand before Odin, the rain a ragged and uneven drumbeat behind their pleas. Surely, Thor thinks, surely now he will have his answers; surely now, what has been broken can be put right.

But as his father reluctantly prepares to send Thor to Midgard, working a spell of great power and dark magic, and his mother bends her skill to eliciting further details of Loki’s whereabouts and doings, doubt creeps into Thor’s certainty, and the confusion swirling in his heart begins to build to rage.

Loki is with the Chitauri? Loki has attacked the humans and stolen the Tesseract? What madness is this? Is he even thinking of Thor and his family?

The rainclouds hang low and heavy over Asgard and the rain beats down in an unrelenting torrent as Thor paces and hefts Mjolnir in readiness.

“Loki is in a Midgardian flying machine,” Frigga says, staring into her fire. “He is a prisoner of the mortals.”

Unlikely, Thor thinks, standing ready to depart. Loki no doubt has some scheme in mind. But whatever the situation, Loki is his responsibility, and he will take him, by force if necessary.

“I am ready, father,” he says and Odin grunts, concentrating hard on the ancient and dangerous magic needed to travel between the worlds without the Bifrost. But his mother looks up, and the hope and fear mingled on her face must be mirrored on his own.

“Bring him home,” she says, and it is a command, not a plea. “Whatever it takes, Thor. Bring him back.”

“I shall,” Thor vows as a creeping shadow swallows him up, as he is has the nauseating sensation of both falling through space and being wrenched by gravity’s pull, and as he is ripped through the fabric binding the cosmic pathways together he can feel a storm already building on Midgard in preparation for his arrival.

He can taste the ozone and feels the wind roar around him as the void falls away and he finds himself in freefall over a dark forest somewhere in Midgard. Lightning flashes as he screams “Loki!” and there, below him, is the strange metal tube his mother had described.

The storm lifts him and carries him as he races towards it, but no rain falls. His heart is steady in the face of battle: he will have Loki and he will have answers, and he needs only the lightning and the thunder for company until he brings his brother home.

**IV: Grief**

It is another grey and dreary morning in London, and Thor sits on the narrow sofa and watches the rain trace delicate patterns along the window-panes of Jane’s small flat.

 _Mother_. _Loki._

 Behind him, the bedroom door creaks open, and he is keenly aware of Jane yawning and rubbing at her eyes as she emerges, only to stop and sigh when she sees him sitting there in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday.

“Still can’t sleep?” she asks, voice gentle as she comes and leans against him, so tiny and fragile that he can barely feel where her body rests against his. He shakes his head.

“Ugh, it’s raining again,” she says, following his gaze, wrinkling her nose at the heavy, ironclad clouds and the weeping sky. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much rain, even here. I miss New Mexico.”

“I am sorry,” he tells her and she shrugs, but he is not quite certain she understands.

“Can I get you anything?” she says, sympathetic and kind, rubbing his broad shoulders with her tiny palms, and for a moment he cannot breathe for the pressure of his sorrow and grief and guilt, a black wave rising up in his throat and filling his chest, but then it passes, and he can push it down, push it away, and he manages a smile.

“Shall I make us breakfast?” he offers, looking for some purpose, no matter how small.

Jane looks at him carefully for a moment, and squeezes his shoulder. “Mmm, lovely,” she says, and then she is directing him with crisp, clear instructions, and it is a great relief to obey, to lose himself in easy, uncomplicated company, to nod and listen intently as she outlines her new plans for research, and how Thor can help, and he thinks he feels a little better.

Outside, the rain continues to pour down, an unbroken and unending torrent, but neither he nor Jane mention it again.

**V: Acceptance**

The storm is dying away, the thunder barely a growl in the distance, but the clouds remain, heavy and brooding, and there is a fine mist that gusts with the wind, speckling Thor’s face with moisture. Tiny beads of rainwater have gathered on Loki’s eyelashes, and fat drops fall from his hair; he shakes his head, almost absently, and it sets off a cascade in miniature that runs down his neck and drips down his face.

“I thought – I really thought you meant it, this time,” Thor says, turning aside to spit the blood from his mouth.

“Well, I could never stand to be predictable,” Loki says, with something of his old humour, letting his head fall onto Thor’s shoulder. His hand is pressed tightly over the nasty-looking wound in his side, but he seems too tired to begin healing it, and after a few moments Thor rips a piece of cloth from his cape and makes a makeshift bandage before slumping back down at Loki’s side.

They sit in companionable silence for a few long moments, the air damp and cool as it swirls and eddies around them.

“So what now?” Thor says, his hands held loosely in his lap, Mjolnir resting peacefully just out of reach. “Is this the part where you curse me again and vanish into the night?”

Loki laughs, a soft sound only lightly tinged with bitterness. “Will you not chastise me for my betrayal? Demand justice for my many wrongs?”

Thor hums lightly and tilts his head back to feel the rain gather on his face. He is tired and lonely and hurting, and in no mood to play this endless game of anger and pain.

“Are you well?” he asks instead, and Loki snorts inelegantly.

“You know I am not,” he says pointedly, and Thor shrugs a little, feels Loki sway with the movement where he is pressed against him.

“Neither am I,” Thor says and lapses into silence. Loki fidgets next to him, clearly waiting for him to do something, looking for something to react to – but Thor has nothing new to say and nothing new to give.

If Loki fights, he will defend himself, but beyond that? He has learnt, to his bitter cost, that he cannot hold Loki against his will, and neither can all the powers of Asgard and Midgard. Loki will do as he pleases, and while Thor can and will do all he can to protect the weak from his brother’s malice, he no longer has the heart to try and pretend it is anything more than a game between them, one made all the more vicious in that Loki insists on playing with the lives of real people.

And yet, in these small, rare moments of peace, Thor still feels his heart swell with love, and it is still Loki who calls forth the greatest emotions in him. There is a reason it is raining yet again, soft, sad gusts that cannot settle, and Thor knows his brother is intelligent enough to see that as they sit alongside each other in the aftermath of yet another battle half-fought together and half-fought against each other.

If these long and bitter years have taught Thor anything, it is patience, and to take what he can while he has it. He will not be the one to break this fragile truce and so he sits, quietly, and merely appreciates having Loki calm beside him, knowing that it will not last.

“Oh, by all the -” Loki is muttering and stealing unsubtle glances at Thor, and as he turns Thor tenses for a sudden attack, fingers reaching towards Mjolnir, just in case – and then Loki launches forward, twisting around from Thor’s side to his lap in one sinuous movement and before Thor can decide whether to resist or evade Loki’s mouth is on his and he is kissing him with all the passion he remembers from their youth and then some.

He would not have believed it, but his memory has surely dimmed these past few years, for Loki’s kisses are even sweeter than he remembers, and Thor meets him with enthusiasm as Loki clings to him, heedless of their battered frames and bruised flesh. Thor cannot help but moan as Loki’s tongue flicks into his mouth and he squirms in Thor’s lap, and he remembers every time they kissed like this before and everything it led to and he reaches blindly for Loki’s body to hold him tighter, closer, gasping for breath as above them the heaven’s finally open and sweet, fresh rain drenches them both, washing away the mingled dirt and blood staining their skin.

“I cannot _stand_ to see you suffering so nobly,” Loki snarls as they break apart for breath, but there is a glint of fear in his eyes, and by now, Thor is at least suspicious of Loki’s more emotive performances. “Poor Thor, so resigned, so sad. It’s quite sickening, brother. I will have to do something about it.”

Thor blinks at him, blindsided. “I am sorry?” he offers, and Loki grins unrepentantly at him. Anger spikes in Thor for a moment: does Loki think this is all it will take? Has he no care for the damage he has done and the pain he has caused? He looks at Loki, bruised and bloodstained, and he looks past the toothy grin to the flickering fear and loneliness in his eyes, and he thinks of what their mother said, long ago. _Bring him home_ , she had said. _Whatever it takes_.

“I will never understand you,” Thor says, pulling Loki in close and ignoring his squawking. “But I will always love you.”

“Yes, yes,” Loki says, shaking his hair like a wet dog, all easy arrogance on the surface, but now that he is watching Thor can see the sigh of relief, the trembling in his shoulders. “Sentiment and all that. Now take me home, Thor. I’ve had quite enough of all this _weather_.”

And no, it’s not an apology, nor an explanation, and there will have to be such a conversation, and soon, but Thor will take what he is given for now, and when they at last collapse onto Thor’s bed, sticky and sore and grinning like fools, all the years seem to have been washed away. The rain thunders down over Asgard, a drumbeat for passion, not warfare, and though there is still a long way to go for both of them, it seems to signal a fresh start; perhaps not a clean slate, but well-watered ground, fertile and bountiful, if only the right seeds can be planted.

**VI: Joy**

It has been six mortal generations since the foundation of the Avengers – or is eight? Thor finds it hard to keep track these days; they are fine people, these new heroes, and noble allies, but they are not as close to his heart as those first few men and women he called friends and shieldmates, back in his days of strife and turmoil. The fault is not in the mortals, by any means, but is rather a consequence of his duties in Asgard and the other realms, and a reaction to the realisation that Midgard is best protected by her own in all but the direst of circumstances. At any rate, many generations on, some of the names and aliases are familiar, and some are new, as it should be: the Avengers continue on, ever-changing, ever vigilant in defending the peoples of Earth and Thor is here to witness the presentation of yet another member.

Many things have changed on Earth, but this much is familiar: a beautiful garden in the heart of the city, and a group of young costumed heroes gathered on a stage, looking both nervous and excited. Although the sky is overcast and the heavy, persistent rain has turned the carefully manicured lawn into a swamp, the atmosphere is jubilant: a good crowd has turned out to welcome the newest members of the Avengers in a presentation ceremony that Thor remembers well from the second incarnation of his team.

Despite the downpour, Atli stands tall and proud amidst her fellow Avengers, looking every inch the warrior-goddess she was born to be. Blonde and blue-eyed, her resemblance to Thor as her grandfather is obvious, but is Loki’s teasing smile that Thor sees on her lips, and the restless twitching of her fingers is all Magni, her father and Thor and Loki’s first-born son. His children’s children now answer the call to protect this middle realm, and Thor’s heart swells with pride as Atli accepts her ID chip with a courteous bow.

“Stop that,” Loki hisses, prodding his arm with a slender finger. “You’ll embarrass her.”

“Tis not I,” Thor says with a fond smile, and indeed it is not: the sudden downpour is all Atli’s own as she grins and waves madly at her grandparents and parents, her excitement bubbling over into exuberance as she rushes from the stage to her family. It is her passion that has called the cloudburst, as she thrills at being the latest child of the House of Odin to receive this honour, though in her joy it is likely she is unaware of it. Midgard’s weather is both more changeable and more responsive than Asgard’s languid, limitless summer, and finer control of her weather powers is just one of the many things Atli will learn among her mortal peers.

“Well, stop it anyway,” Loki sniffs, flicking his damp hair in such a way as to ensure Thor is spattered with the excess water. “I would have sunshine for my darling’s big day.”

Thor grins and complies, and within seconds the clouds roll away to reveal bright, burnished sunlight which bathes the formal garden in a fountain of gold as splendid as any to be found anywhere in the nine realms. Atli is keen to introduce the newest Avengers to her famous – and infamous – grandparents, and Thor and Loki smile and make pleasant conversation with the over-awed children, barely two decades old, before gracefully withdrawing while Loki’s patience and good humour remain intact.

“Take me home,” Loki yawns, as demanding as ever, and Thor solicitously offers his arm, waits for Loki to slap it away in affront, and then slides his palm along Loki’s back and curls his hand around his hip.

“To Asgard,” Thor calls cheerfully, and he holds Loki close as the brilliance of the Bifrost rips them away. They hurtle through the fractured gleaming pressed tightly together, and they remain so as they begin a slow walk back to their palace, bathed in the warm glow of the sunset, two figures under a scarlet sky, without a cloud in sight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow; Atli is from Thor: Godbomb, where she is one of Thor's three thunder goddess granddaughters.


End file.
